You're Most Welcome, Sherlock!
by SherlockedSherlockian
Summary: Laughter can only be a medicine if it treats a real illness. See Sherlock prove his point...not without misunderstandings. Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. Slash Status: No real slash, unless you've got your goggles on. Please review!


**You're Most Welcome, Sherlock!**

Sherlock sighed and lay down on the couch. "Bored?" John asked, looking up from his laptop. The consulting detective – _the world's only_, John reminded himself with a fond smile – nodded dismally. "Hey, come here." John sat down by his side and wrapped him in a hug. "I love you, John." Sherlock mumbled. "I love you too, Sherlock." The doctor nestled his head against Sherlock's shoulder. Named man relaxed against the sofa, eyeing his phone, which he promptly reached over and retrieved. "Anything interesting?" John asked, though secretly he hoped there were no new cases. He was relishing spending some time being close to his best friend.

Sherlock sniffed, indicating that there wasn't, and John snuggled in closer, relieved. "Do you want tea?" the former asked, clearly so desperate for something to do he would even resort to household chores. John was reluctant to let Sherlock go, but nodded and moved over. As Sherlock left the room, John called after him, "Black – and please don't turn it into an experiment!" With a dry chuckle, Sherlock replied, "I'll try my best, John!"

Sherlock returned from the kitchen with two steaming cups of tea, and sidled up beside John again. "How was work?" "You tell me," John answered, taking one of the cups. Sherlock grinned like a child on Christmas Eve, and began, his twinkling eyes making John grin similarly. "Well, your first patient was a boy of about twelve with a serious case of pneumonia and he was followed shortly by an elderly lady whose walking stick had surely seen better days…" and so the brilliant man went on, until John was laughing so hard tears were running down his cheeks, and he was barely able to breathe.

"Not bored now, are you?" John gasped, when Sherlock mercifully stopped his side-splitting assault. The raven-haired man smirked, "Not in the least!" getting up (much to John's disappointment), he crossed the room and sat down by the fireplace, lifting down some old books from the mantelpiece and skimming through them. "What're you doing?" the doctor asked casually, wishing he could call him back over instead. John had been slightly down in the dumps lately, and Sherlock always managed to turn the most monotonous events in the sandy-haired man's life into hilarious memories, especially his patients.

"Just checking some…aha! _I have it_,John!" he exclaimed suddenly, looking up. John looked confused, and Sherlock characteristically rolled his eyes. "The reason they call laughter a medicine. It does treat a real illness – _depression_! An illness of the _mind_, granted, but it does have physical symptoms!" he looked ecstatic.

John sighed. So he had been a subject to experiment on.

Again.

"Oh, don't look so rejected, John! I can assure you, I did not think of using your reaction to my attempt at humour as data until exactly three minutes and eleven seconds ago!" Sherlock looked over at John, voice resigned but eyes darting with concern. He really hadn't intended to use John for an experiment this time! Would his friend believe him?

John studied Sherlock's eyes for a second, taking in the sudden but brief display of uncertainty…just short of insecurity…which was visible (only to John) amongst the captivating watery-grey eyes, a rare and piercing shade to be sure. Then, he burst into a fresh fit of laughter.

Sherlock was relieved, but also slightly indignant. "I really don't see what's so funny," he said with a huff, turning back to the book in his hand, "unless you count my success in defining what may have forever remained only a proverb humorous." "Sherlock, sometimes you can be the most adorable of adult children! Come back here!" John chuckled. The taller man scowled dangerously, but complied, shuffling over like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum and allowing John to put his arms around his slim waist and draw him into an affectionate cuddle. The chance of being friends with Sherlock was literally, one in seven billion, but it sure was worth it.

"You believe me!" Sherlock whispered into John's hair, "Thank you." John smiled a wide, genuine smile, "You're most welcome, Sherlock."


End file.
